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Frozen.

Somewhere,in another world.on the cornerof a lonely street,the clock is forever stuckat 11.11,and two loverssit on the sidewalkstealing all the starsfrom the skyand cramming theminside their pockets.Somewhere,in another world,we still live,frozen.In a memory.

Perhaps this cultural ecstasy that sometimes falls away from the itinerary to follow, although you can not deny the charm that those little jewels of erudition produced in the central discourse of your text.

Thank you for allowing me to read your creation and give me the possibility of knowing part of the mystery that gave rise to it. I confess that his tenderness moved me.

It is extraordinary, above all agile, different, out of stereotypes. I have been very impressed by his eloquent material.

Remember that a professional writer is that amateur who never gave up because writing is a craft that is learned by writing.

Of the various instruments invented by man and woman, the most amazing is the book; all others are extensions of his body … Only the book is an extension of imagination and memory. If you already wrote a book or are planning to do it, I want to be the first to read it.

Chao … Go through my blog, browse it and read the entry that pleases you the most.